The Day After
by AmbrosiaD
Summary: Takes place the day after "Chupacabra." Daryl Dixon never gives up and lives to search another day. Explores some of his past and what & who motivates him. Update/Chapter 3 takes place after "Pretty Much Dead Already."
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first fan fiction ever.

"Well I'll be damned," he thought, peeking through the branches into a clearing. He was about a mile from the abandoned farmhouse with the tiny makeshift bed in the cupboard.

Calling it a clearing was a bit of an overstatement. Waist high weeds and prickly vines choked the crumbling structure at its center. A faded sign hung on its last nail over the door. _Cecil's_. It appeared to have at one time been a combination convenience store, gas station, and beer joint. God knows he had seen enough of these places in his youth, dragged Merle out of plenty of them before he landed in county lockup again.

He took a whack at the branches with a machete to clear his way and gasped at the shooting pain in his side. Everyone said he'd have to be batshit crazy to continue his search the day after getting both shot and impaled, not to mention two falls down a ravine into a creek bed. And that's why he'd snuck out just before dawn. They were right. He was batshit crazy.

He'd never really cottoned to pop psychology bullshit. Never read a self-help book or seen an episode of Oprah in his life. Never spent a minute telling some pansy ass with a college degree a sob story. Never waited in line with a dozen other sad-sack fuckers to pick up Prozac or Xanax or whatever the fuck people used to take to tolerate their safe, privileged lives.

But he could feel it now, feel it in whatever bones weren't already cracked or bruised from yesterday's collossal shit storm. Daryl Dixon was coming un-fucking-glued.

It wasn't so much the end of the world that was doing him in, necessarily. In fact, he wasn't really sure things had changed that much for him. Hell, he'd been in survival mode his whole life. No, it was more like it had taken the Zombie-Fucking-Apocalypse for his entire total shit life to catch up to him.

He'd been holding it together pretty well-better than most in this group of imbeciles who could barely survive a case of the sniffles, let alone Armaggedon. And then the damn girl had to go missing. He'd lain there in that RV listening to Sophia's mother weeping until something snapped inside of him. Yes, despite the darkness and the danger, he did want to go look for her. But more than that he wanted to be alone, to think about the memory that had been freshly dredged to the surface.

And then the suicidal chick had insisted on joining him. (Or was she homicidal now? His aching head strongly suggested it.) That was the problem with people. Sure, there were times he'd been alone so fucking long he started talking to himself just to hear the sound of someone's voice. So yeah, there probably were advantages to having friends or a family. But once you let people in, the dumbasses just wouldn't leave you alone.

He wasn't sure why he told her about his childhood misadventure in the woods. Everybody was just being so goddamned negative about finding the girl. Hell yes he was gonna look for her, just like he wished someone had looked for him.

When he returned to the RV that night, it was quiet. Carol had literally cried herself to sleep. He lay back on the floor, hands behind his head, and continued his futile gaze at the ceiling. Now he wasn't sure he even wanted to think about it...

_Home was a falling down shotgun shack back then, long before the bank took everything and they had to move into the rusty trailer that had actually been an improvement. At least the trailer had heat. But she never made it to the trailer. It was good in a way. She didn't have to see the land that had been in her family for generations lost because of her no account husband. _

_"Careful, honey," she said in her hoarse whisper. _

_Thwack! "Done," he said, climbing down from the ladder. The bedroom had no door, but now it had two extra blankets nailed into its frame. _

_"You shouldn't have to do that," she said._

_"I don't mind," he said, turning up the flame on the kerosene heater. _

_Who else was going to do something about keeping out the winter chill? Merle? Not all the way from Juvie. Daddy? She always claimed he was off on a job somewhere, but even at the age of 5, he didn't buy it. _

_He sat on the bed beside her and touched her forehead. "How come your teeth are chatterin' when your head's so hot?"_

_"That's what happens when you're sick, baby."_

_"Oh. Well, you're gonna feel better real soon. I'm gonna take care of you."_

_And he did. Weeks and weeks of bringing her hot canned soup-it was all he could find and all he knew how to make-and holding a bucket while she coughed up God knows what. Sometimes it looked like blood. No one ever told him what was wrong with her. He just thought it was a bad cold. At five, that was the only kind of sickness he could comprehend. _

_"Tell me a story, Mama." She was so good at telling stories. Cowboy and Indian ones were his favorite. _

_"I don't know if I can, baby. I ain't got the breath right now. Can you just sit with me for a spell?"_

_"Ok, Mama. I can wait." He grabbed a washcloth from the nightstand and wiped the beads of sweat off her forehead. "Mama?"_

_"Yes, honey?"_

_"I thought girls had long hair. How come your hair is so short?" _

_He remembered when her hair was long and he used to twirl the shiny brown strands around his finger while she told him a story or sang him to sleep. Then one night about a year ago, she and Daddy had one of their biggest blow ups ever. He put his head under the pillow to block out all the yelling, but he could feel his bed shake when something hit the wall four times. And then silence. _

_The next morning, Daddy was gone again and Mama was cleaning big clumps of hair out of the sink. He'd wanted to ask then, but he'd learned to never say nothing when her eyes were all swollen up like that. _

_He wasn't sure what made him finally ask now after all this time. She was quiet for so long, he thought she didn't hear him. "Mama? Why'd you cut your hair?"_

_"I cut it 'cause it got caught in stuff."_

_"What kinda stuff? Like branches and briars when you're pickin' berries?"_

_"Yeah, branches, briars, fists-all kinds of stuff long hair can get caught in."_

_"Huh?"_

_"Ok baby, I think I can tell you that story now..."_

_And that's when he first heard about the Cherokee Rose. _

_He usually slept in her room now, in case she needed anything. He drifted off after the end of the tale, but awoke sometime later and heard her talking again. He thought maybe he was missing more of the story. He almost opened his eyes and turned to her. But something told him not to. That's when he realized she was crying. _

_"I'm so sorry," she sobbed quietly. "I shoulda known better. Shoulda never brought you into this shithole-" she gasped. "God I didn't mean it like that. It's just-Merle was bad from the start. And you-you were everything a mama could want. I mean, five years and you ain't turned bad yet!" _

_He didn't understand how someone could chuckle and cry at the same time, but he stayed perfectly still to see if he could figure it out. She was quiet again for a while. _

_"But now what's gonna become of you, huh? Won't be long 'fore I'm not here no more. What kinda life you gon' have? What kinda man you gon' turn out to be? You ain't nothin' like Merle and your daddy. But what happens when they're all you got?"_

_He listened for a long time, but she didn't say anything more. Just cried. Cried and cried herself to sleep._

He made it through the bushes, but kept the machete in hand as he crept through the tall grass. He wasn't scared of snakes, even if one almost damn near killed him yesterday. Plus, he was on foot today. But he kept on the lookout for one of those fuckers, just in case he got the chance for a little payback.

He made it, snake-free, to the front door. The wooden boards that had been nailed up as a barricade long ago had rotted a little over time, as the small tin awning overhead had rusted away. Although it was closed now, someone had forced the door open, pushed and pulled until the rot had finally given way. And there was evidence it had been done recently. Fresh, unweathered splinters from inside the boards littered the ground. Cautiously, he sheathed the machete and unhooked the strap that held his crossbow on his back. He was surprised at how quietly the old door opened. He propped it open with a nearby rock and sunlight penetrated the dark interior.

"Sophia?" he called. He noticed at least a six-pack's worth of empty beer cans strewn on the floor. He crouched down for a closer look. The cans were so old, they still had the kind of tab top that pulled off entirely when you opened them. Upon further inspection, however, the tiny bit of liquid still inside of each of them, was fresh-as fresh as 30-year old beer could be. He winced when he sniffed his wet fingers. Even more disgusting was the pool of vomit nearby. And he'd had squirrel sushi yesterday. He knew disgusting. Somebody must've been desperate for a buzz. Or maybe just desperate for anything to drink at all.

A low moan pierced the silence. _Shit!_ When hunting, he'd learned to do all his cursing in his head. The sound came from behind the ancient checkout counter. He crept slowly to the open end of the L-shaped counter. The moan was coming from something lying beneath an old, filthy Confederate flag. _Oh fuck._ He crept forward, crossbow at the ready, and nudged the flag with his boot. Every nerve in his body was strained to the limit and his trigger finger was itching. And then he noticed the shoe. Pink and bloody, poking out from the edge of the flag. _Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. _He lowered the crossbow, grabbed a corner of the fabric and yanked.

"Sophia! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!" He wasn't bothering to curse in his head anymore. He shined a flashlight on her to get a better look. She was covered in dried blood and so much grime, her skin looked gray. "Goddamn. How am I gonna tell your mama you turned and I had to shoot you in the head?"

"Daryl?" Her eyes fluttered open. They were sleepy, but bright, blue, and not a bit cloudy. Plus, the last time he checked, Walkers couldn't talk.

"Thank fuckin' God," he said, even though he was pretty damn sure one didn't exist. And then, he looked more closely and got proof there was no benevolent god in this fucking hell.

The right side of Sophia's face was one huge purple bruise further covered in a layer of red scrapes and scratches. Her lip was swollen. And he could tell from the huge dark spots on her once blue jeans that her thighs were caked in blood. No, he wasn't going to have to tell Carol that her baby had been turned into a monster. But he was going to have to tell her that maybe there were worse monsters among the living than the dead.

"Please don't tell Mama about the beer, Daryl," she mumbled. "I was just so thirsty, and it made me awful sick."

"I won't say a word, honey. Not a word." He strapped the crossbow onto his back and started to wrap her up in the flag, then thought better of it and threw the cloth aside. _That's all I need-T-Dog kickin' my ass._

He put one arm behind her knees and the other behind her back and lifted. "Thanks," she murmured, then slumped into his chest, unconscious again.

Who knows what all had happened to her over the past few days. Actually, he really didn't know what the hell her asshole dad had done to her in the past. It was obvious he beat the shit out of Carol all the time. He was pretty familiar with that look, the downward gaze, the subtle ways a person could try to make themselves small for fear someone might notice them and lash out at any moment.

Despite growing up poor, he was never really the type to be jealous of other people. But knowing Shane beat the living fuck out of Ed, hell yeah Daryl was jealous-jealous he hadn't acted on that impulse first. That was the only decent thing that prick Shane had ever done. Sure, he kind of saved Carl, but that whole story about Otis really tweaked Daryl's bullshit detector. Besides, anybody was capable of a good deed now and then. Hell, it was a Walker that finally took Ed's ass out for good. And damn, the way Carol bashed that dead son of a bitch's skull in...

There was just something about Carol and Sophia-how they could both be so completely broken and so completely strong at the same time.

It was nearing sunset when he spotted the Greene farmhouse, and Dale, binoculars in hand on top of the RV. He was sure as hell glad it wasn't Andrea. He still hadn't made it to the porch when Carol came running out the front door. He tried to run toward her to make it easier on her, but his energy was totally tapped. He suddenly noticed his side was burning like hell. It seemed to be getting dark so quickly and he was having trouble seeing. The last thing he saw clearly, as the three of them fell into a heap, was Carol Peletier's face lit up like the Fourth of Fucking July, and then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Before even opening his eyes, he could tell he was in a bed again. The other night had been the first night he'd spent in a bed since... well, since before. It felt incredible. Eyes still closed, he could tell it was the same bed. It was the perfect firmness and it was huge. But he felt kind of bad about it, taking up space in such a big, comfortable bed. Other people deserved a bed more than he did. Someone like...

"Carol?" He opened his eyes to find her dozing in a chair pushed up against the bed. A candle burned in a hurricane glass on the nightstand, giving the room a faint golden glow.

"Huh?" she jumped. "Oh, I was just-just resting my eyes for a bit. Need anything?"

"No, I don't need nothin'." He heard a soft snoring sound and turned his head. Sophia was asleep on the other side of the bed.

"What the fuck Carol?" He tried to spring up, and pain shot through his body.

"Don't move!" Carol exclaimed, putting a hand on his chest. "You're gonna rip your stitches again. Hershel says I need to sit on you if I have to. Says he's tired of wasting medicine on you if you won't follow doctor's orders."

"Gotta move, dammit. It ain't right her being in here with me."

"I couldn't leave either one of you," Carol said. "It seemed like the easiest way. It's a king-size bed for heaven's sake. Besides, I gave her one of your pain killers for her face and headache. She's totally out. She won't bother you."

"Bother _me_? It ain't right. Not after what she's been through. Puttin' her in bed with a grown man. What the fuck you thinkin', Carol?"

"Like I said, it seemed like the easiest-wait, what are you talking about?"

"Her face. And all that blood... I just wish I'd found her before somebody-"

"Oh, Daryl," she got up from the chair and perched on the edge of the bed, laying her palm against his cheek. "Honey, she's fine. She already told me everything. She hit herself in the face prying the door open."

"But the blood. I know what I saw."

"Daryl, um," she smiled. "There's other reasons a girl might have blood on her pants."

"What?... Oh! Damn. Guess I'm a fuckin' moron."

"No. You're a hero."

"I ain't no fuckin' hero."

"You're my hero."

She leaned down uncertainly. Her eyes met his before her lashes fluttered shut and she covered his mouth with hers. He didn't mean to respond. Didn't want to, not like this anyway. But his hand found its way behind her head and pulled her in harder against his lips. Her hair felt soft and clean against his rough hand. She smelled good, like something old fashioned he hadn't smelled in a long time. Lavender? Lemon Verbena? He felt her lips part and his tongue flicked against hers. He heard a moan and honestly did not know if it had come from her or him. If he didn't stop now, he was going to be completely lost. He broke free from their kiss and pushed her away.

"Don't need no damn gratitude, Carol," he said gruffly.

"You think that was gratitude?" she asked breathlessly. "The other night when I kissed your cheek-that was gratitude. This had nothing to do with gratitude."

"Then what the fuck did you do it for?"

"Daryl Dixon-you ever look in a mirror?" she laughed.

"Damn, woman. I know I ain't no movie star, but you ain't gotta laugh at me."

She chuckled again. "You mean you don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Look at you-walking around with no sleeves, showing those arms. And that crossbow strapped to your back? Oh my! A woman would have to be crazy not to want you."

"Well, let me see... Lori always gives me a look like she just stepped in dog shit. I'm pretty sure the farmer's daughter is bangin' Glenn. And oh yeah-Andrea shot me in the fuckin' head. Guess they're all crazy, huh?"

"Yes, that sounds about right. Crazy. Every last one of them," she smiled.

"Well, I still don't think we oughta start-I mean... you're probably just happy about your daughter."

"Of course I'm happy about my daughter! But I also-"

"What?"

"Oh, wait." She covered her face with her hands, then quickly brought them down again, wringing them in her lap. She looked embarrassed.

"What is it?"

"If this is just your nice way of saying you think of me as a silly old woman..."

"Hell no! I don't think nothin' like that. That ain't what I think about you at all."

"So what do you think about me?"

"Carol, I-" he swallowed hard. "I think about you... _often_."

She smiled. "That sounds like a good start."

"Still don't get why you'd waste your time thinkin' about me," he said. "You don't know nothin' about me."

"So tell me something, Daryl. Something about you."

"What do you wanna know?"

"Anything. How old are you?"

He actually had to think about that one. It wasn't like anybody'd ever thrown him a freakin' party. "35. Am I allowed to ask a lady the same question?"

"I'm 38-and don't you dare look at me funny!" she snapped.

"I ain't lookin' at you funny. Why the hell would I do that?"

"I'm not lying. My hair started going gray in high school. Used to dye it 'til-'til Ed got the crazy notion I was trying to impress somebody. Like he'd ever let me be around anyone else to impress. But once he got something in his head, that was that. So he..."

"What did he do to you?"

"Held me down and shaved it all off... Didn't matter really. Besides, short hair is easier."

"Can't get caught on nothin'."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," she smiled as tears pooled in her eyes.

"Hey." He reached up and ran his thumb across her cheek, catching a single tear. "He can't hurt you no more."

"I know."

"I don't think you do," he said, covering her hand with his. "Nobody's gonna hurt you no more. Livin' or dead. You got that?"

She nodded and yawned. "Sorry."

"You gotta be exhausted. You need some sleep."

"Oh I'm fine," she said, moving back toward the chair. "I'll just sit back over here and let you rest.

"No," he said, gently grabbing her wrist, and pulling her back down to the bed. "You ain't sleepin' in no chair." He held onto his bandaged side and carefully slid over. "You said yourself it's a king-size bed." He could see her hesitate.

"Come on now. Don't jump my bones kissin' me and then get all shy on me." Even in the dim candle glow, he could see her blushing. "I'm just kiddin'," he smiled, pulling the sheets back. She finally climbed under the covers, lying on her back next to him. "You know it's my other side that hurts, right? Might be nice if you put your head on my shoulder."

She turned toward him. "You're right. This is nice."

"Now don't go gettin' any ideas, woman. There's children present. We're just gonna sleep."

"I didn't know you were gonna be such a smartass."

"Damn. First time I heard you cuss. I'm already a bad influence."

"If you don't shut up and let me sleep," she said, snuggling into his chest, "I might get Andrea to shoot you in the other side of your head tomorrow."


	3. The Day After Part 2

A/N: If you wanted to preserve the previous happy ending in your mind, read at your own peril. ;)

It was just a stupid story. A stupid, fucking story. Something he made up in his head. It wasn't even all that good. He was nowhere near as good as his mama at spinning a tale. Merle was right-he was a pussy. (Wait, that wasn't real either, was it?) What kind of grown man needed a fucking bedtime story?

But sometimes he did need something to block out the day's bullshit and get some fucking sleep. And if he ever needed to block out a day's events, it was sure as hell last night. It was really some kind of fucked up world when the day you fell down a ravine twice, got impaled, almost eaten by zombies, and shot in the head was not the worst day of your fucking life.

He wasn't just a pussy: he was also an idiot. A genuine idiot. There she was telling him something she'd never dared to say out loud. _She didn't know_. It wasn't just some shit from Shane to justify whatever the fuck he thought they oughta be doing. _She_ didn't know. She didn't know if the one person she loved more than anything in this god forsaken world was still alive. And the reason she was saying it-the reason she physically forced the words out of her mouth, and he could tell it wasn't easy-was to protect his sorry ass.

"What?" In the stable, he had taken a step toward her, and then another, and he had it all planned out in his mind. He was gonna wipe those fucking tears off her face, take her in his arms, and tell her: _Hey-you don't need to protect me. I protect you, cuz I take care of what's mine._

What might've happened next was a little more fuzzy. But that first part, he was sure of. And what did he do instead? Started throwing shit and cussing her like an asshole. Hell, he was no better than Ed.

So what if he apologized? Right after he said he was sorry, he did something even worse. Got her hooked on hope again. He was too damned ignorant to realize just what it meant when she said _she_ didn't know. It meant she was starting to let go, or at least trying. And that had to be the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life. It was a hell of an ocean to dip your toe in: _my kid is gone forever_. And he'd had to go and ruin whatever progress she'd made. Had to stand there like some pansy ass mother fucker picking flowers and bullshitting her until she believed it again-felt it again: _Sophia is still out there_.

What the fuck did he have to go and do that for? It started out with him just wanting to help a kid cuz no one ever helped him. Or at least that's what he thought. But then it dawned on him. If he told himself the truth, he didn't want to help Sophia so much as he just wanted to see her mama smile.

And there it was. She was smiling and saying she felt it too. She could see it-Sophia was still out there. And there he was standing there like a total dumbass, feeling like some kind of man for getting that smile out of her, but acting like a fucking school boy. He took one of those goddamn flowers-he wished he'd never heard of them now-tucked it behind her ear and finally did what he should've done in the stable. He put his hands on either side of her face, and said, "Carol, I-." Of course it was then that he realized he had absolutely no fucking idea what he was going to say, and luckily, she just said, "Shh..." and let him pull her toward him.

He knew now what Merle would've said. _You fuckin' with this bitch's head just to get in her pants? Well, she ain't my type, but to each his own, little brother._

It wasn't like that at all. Besides, they just kissed for fuck's sake. Well, mostly. What the hell did he think he was gonna do anyway? Fuck her on a creek bank while her kid was out there missing? That wasn't the plan. But then again, something about her always seemed to make his mind turn to shit and forget all his plans. And maybe that was the point for both of them at that moment-to forget. Forget they were both half-starved, both of their last living relatives were missing in action, and the whole fucking world had gone to hell.

And for a minute there, it worked. None of that shit existed. He sure as hell wasn't thinking about it. He wasn't thinking about anything. Just felt his fingers threaded through hers, pushing down into the damp grass above her head, his heart pounding in his chest, the soft skin of her neck on his lips...

And then it was like she suddenly remembered everything before he did because he could feel her pushing him away.

"Daryl, wait-"

"I'm sorry," he said, sitting up and pulling her up with him.

"No, don't be. I just-" she put her hand against his face. "I have an idea. Tonight, after we find her-_if_, that is, I can ever let her out of my sight again. You and I... well, we can celebrate."

It killed him now to think of the look on her face. She was smiling and blushing and her eyes were all lit up, and he knew she fucking believed what she was saying. And that was nobody's fault but his. He had put that goddamn thought in her head because at the time, he was stupid enough to believe it too.

"Well, if you can't-let her out of your sight, I mean-I can wait. I ain't goin' nowhere."

As it turned out, she hadn't been able to let Sophia out of her sight. But not at all in the way they'd imagined that morning at the creek.

He didn't know how long he'd been holding her in the dirt out by the barn. It was getting dark, and everyone else had long since had the decency to wander away. At least she wasn't crying anymore. And thank God she'd stopped making that sound he'd only ever heard from a deer when he hadn't taken a clean shot.

It took him a minute to realize that she had finally spoken.

"...don't you think, Daryl? Wasn't she? Wasn't she almost beautiful? I mean, you could hardly tell, right?"

Yes, Sophia-or whatever the fuck had been Sophia- was almost beautiful. A beautiful abomination. People thought he was an illiterate redneck, but his mama had taught him a few big words in her short life.

"Right, Daryl?" she repeated.

And that's when he felt something in him break. "Yeah," he choked. "Beautiful. You could hardly tell." Suddenly his face was wet and hot, and at first he couldn't figure out why cuz it was getting cold out; and for once, he wasn't the least bit sweaty. Fuck. He didn't want her to see him blubbering and set her off again. But when he looked at her, he saw her eyes were closed. She had actually fallen asleep-asleep in a patch of dry red dirt next to a fucking pile of carnage.

He carefully scooped her up and walked back to the camp outside the farmhouse. For once, no one looked at him as if he had three heads. "You can take her to the RV," Dale said quietly.

"I ain't leavin' her," he said.

"That's fine by me," Dale replied. "Go right ahead."

He had just gotten her shoes off and the covers over her when he heard a faint tapping at the door. "I thought maybe you could use this." Lori's arms were loaded with a pot of warm water, towels, and soap.

"Thanks," he said, taking them from her. He was surprised when she followed him inside. Hell, he was surprised she'd said more than two words to him.

"I'm sorry, Daryl. I really am."

He stood there, not knowing what to say.

"I'm pregnant," she blurted.

"Well, congratu-fuckin'-lations, Lori. I'm real happy for you. What the fuck you want me to say?"

"Daryl, I-I don't know. I'm sorry."

"No," he said. "I'm sorry. I'm really not an asshole."

"I know that." He was pretty sure she was leaving off the word _now_.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Obviously, not everyone knows yet. And I thought maybe-I don't know. It just doesn't seem fair. I don't want to upset her."

"You sayin' you want _me_ to tell her?" he asked.

"I don't know what I'm saying." She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose hard.

"It's okay. Been kind of a shit day, huh?"

"That's one way to put it. I better let you get some rest." She turned toward the door.

"Hey-Lori," he said, before she shut the door behind her. "Thanks again."

"You're welcome," she said. "I mean that. And Daryl?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad she has you."

_Well that was weird._ In fact, that might've been the weirdest part of this whole insane day: Lori Grimes treating him like a fucking human being.

He didn't want to bother Carol, but she never moved when he washed the dirt off her face. He climbed in bed beside her and closed his eyes. And he could only see one thing: Sophia.

Carol was right. There in the sunlight, she had looked almost beautiful. But more than that-she looked almost normal. For a split second he knew they were all thinking the same thing-_Maybe she wasn't_... But that didn't make a damn bit of sense. Of course she was a walker now.

And everyone just froze. Everyone but Carol, and all he could do was hold her back. The rest of them just stood there. Shane, for all his action hero bullshit, didn't have the balls to do anything. Only Rick-the same Rick that had just looked like a fucking neutered puppy doing Herschel's crazy bidding-finally moved. And all Daryl could do was lie there on the fucking ground, first trying to keep Carol from doing something stupid, and then trying to keep her from watching her daughter's head get blown off. Walker or not, that was still her child's brains spilling out all over the Georgia dirt.

Sure, Sophia was already dead. But that didn't make it seem any less like he was witnessing the life drain out of her when that bullet put her down. And he could almost feel the life draining out of Carol too as she struggled against him. The whole damn thing just kept playing on a slow-motion loop in his head, over and over and over again.

So that's when he made up the story, conveniently casting himself as the hero and leaving in just enough romance to keep it interesting. Never mind that it was utterly ridiculous. Sophia was pretty much a goner the minute she left that highway. Whatever. It didn't matter. However far-fetched, the story had done it's job. He got to the part where they were lying in bed together, just like now, but so different, and he finally drifted off.

He woke up just before dawn. Carol was still out cold. He hoped she stayed that way, at least until he got back. He didn't want to leave her, and didn't want her to wake up alone, but he had things to do. He laced up his boots and set out, the whole camp still silent.

She turned over and mumbled into his shoulder. "You're all sweaty."

"Sorry."

"No, it's not necessarily bad." Her eyes were still closed and the corners of her mouth started to curl up, and he knew. She was in that blissful moment between sleep and awake-the one time you really could forget. He watched for three full seconds until it happened. Her brow furrowed, eyes squeezed shut tighter, lips turned down, and oh fuck-the dying deer noise again.

"Shh," he said, pulling her closer. "It's okay."

"No it's not," she looked up at him. "It's never going to be okay again."

"I know," he said. "Didn't know what else to say."

"I'm sorry. All you've done is try to help. It's just-Daryl, I don't know if there's anything left for me to live for."

"You think anybody in this group, except for Rick and Lori, have something to live for?" Let her think he just meant Carl. He definitely wasn't opening that can of worms today. "Hell, Carol, do you realize T-Dog might actually be the last black man on earth? And believe it or not, that don't make me the least bit happy."

He thought he saw just a ghost of a smile cross her face. "You know what?" he continued. "Somebody told me maybe livin' is just a habit."

"A habit doesn't sound like a very good reason to get out of this bed," she said.

"Shit-don't knock it. There was a time when most mornings, only thing that got me outta bed was the promise of a cigarette."

"I've never seen you do that," she said.

"Well, it ain't like they're makin' fresh ones."

"You know, your brother could still be out there," she said.

"You think a mean ass meth-head is gonna give me the will to live?" he snorted.

"But you told me you saw him in the creek bed that day. In your head, I mean. That's gotta mean something."

"Yeah-it means if I'd seen anybody else, I'da just laid there and cried like a baby."

"Even me?"

"Especially you." His lips lightly grazed the top of her head.

"What am I supposed to do now, Daryl?"

"You're gonna get up, put your shoes on, and come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"To say goodbye."

The sun was about halfway up in the sky when they left the RV. It was probably around 10:00, but who the hell knew anymore except Dale with his pointless watch? As they approached the barn, they could see everyone digging. He hesitated, worried that she might freak out on him. But she continued walking toward the group.

"No," he said, grabbing her hand. "This way."

They turned away from the barn and walked up a slight rise in the land. A huge oak tree stood at the top of the little hill. Underneath it sat an old double glider, made of rusty green metal. A few feet from the chair was a child-sized hole, a mound of dirt just beyond it with two shovels resting on top.

"You didn't do this by yourself, did you?" she asked, lightly touching his injured side.

"I had help."

""Rick?"

"Yeah."

He watched her stop in front of the chair, then take another small step forward.

"You don't have to look if you don't want to," he said.

"No, I do-have to." She peered over the edge. "What's that?"

He joined her at the edge of the grave, put his arm around her and looked down at the blanketed form at the bottom. "Maggie had some things laid out. I picked that one. Hope you don't mind." It was a bright blue piece of fleece, covered in white puffy clouds and rainbows.

"I probably would've picked that myself."

He felt her sway a little. "You better sit down," he said, and led her to the glider.

"It's a beautiful spot," she said. "It'll be even more beautiful when the leaves change. Fall was her favorite."

He nodded, not knowing what to say.

"I just don't understand," she said. "I asked Him to punish _me_, not her. Why would He punish my little girl?"

Her eyes were filling up again and suddenly he felt furious. Not at her. Not at anybody, really. "You can't think about that shit now, Carol," he snapped.

"Look, I know you don't believe, and maybe I don't anymore either, but..."

"Damn, Carol. If any of that shit was true, then looks to me like He did punish you. Your little girl's free."

"You're right," she said, glancing at the grave. "My little girls's free."

"Sorry for barkin' at you like that," he said. "You put up with enough of that shit in the past."

"You know, when Ed died, I thought Sophia and I could start over. Thought with him gone, I could make up for everything. Make up for what a horrible mother I was for staying with him."

"Hey, now," he said. "I ain't gonna let you talk like that."

"But can you imagine, Daryl? Can you imagine how much she went through that I would think the end of the world would be a better life for her? I mean, I let her grow up in a home where seeing and hearing her mama get beaten was an everyday thing. What kind of childhood is that? Do you know how many times she must've seen me cry? She'd always pat me on the hand and say, 'Don't worry, Mama. It's gonna get better.' But it never did."

"Carol, look at me," he grabbed her chin and forced her eyes to meet his. "I_ can _imagine. I _do_ know. Least you didn't die and leave her with nothin' but him."

"Those scars on your back? I saw them that night I brought you dinner."

He nodded and looked away.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No. I mean-maybe. Someday. Not anytime soon."

"Okay. I guess I should be grateful Ed never hit Sophia. He never laid a hand on her. And I really don't think I would've let him if he tried. Maybe that was the bargain I struck in my mind-you can hit me all you want as long as you leave her alone. But not too long before he died, I could just feel it in my bones that-"

"What?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, her head turning from side to side as if she could shake off whatever thought was in her head.

"No, it sounded like somethin'."

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"You'd better."

"For awhile, maybe a week or two before the attack on the camp, something happened to Ed. He seemed to change for the worse. And even what Shane did didn't fix it."

"What do you mean?"

"He was-well, he was looking at Sophia funny. Different. Kinda like the way he used to look at me when he'd come home all liquored up and get grabby. And not the fighting kinda grabby, you know? I wasn't going to let that happen. Do you understand me, Daryl? _I was not going to let that happen_. I was working on a plan."

"What were you gonna do?"

"I was planning to... I was gonna kill him, Daryl. There. I said it. If that changes how you feel about me, I'm sorry, but it's true. I'm not just sad, sweet, old Carol. I've got a murderous heart."

"Hell, Carol-that just makes me like you more."

He looked over his shoulder. He could see that the group had finished digging. They were all standing back now as Herschel and Maggie took turns reading from the same book. He knew he'd punch that old fucker's lights out if he tried coming over here with that shit.

"You were a good mother," he said, turning back to her. "That little girl wouldn'ta loved you so much if you wasn't. You'da died for her. You'da killed for her. Can't nobody ask for more than that."

"Thank you, Daryl."

"You wanna say anything to her? I can leave if you do."

"No," she said. "Don't go. I been talking to her non-stop in my mind ever since she jumped over that guardrail."

"You could tell me somethin' about her. If you want to."

"Okay." She thought for a minute. "It wasn't all bad, you know. Sometimes Ed would go off for days. I'm pretty sure he had another woman. Not that I cared, mind you. He could be charming til you got to know him. That's how he suckered me in. Anyway, he'd run off for awhile and Sophia and I would pretend to be the Princess and the Queen. I'd put ribbons in her hair and we'd polish our nails all different colors. We'd have a good time. 'Course I'd have to remember to get it off of me before Ed came back or he'd want to know who I was getting all painted up like a whore for... Okay, that part wasn't so good."

"So tell me somethin' that's just good."

She let out a little giggle, and it was the first time he'd ever heard anything like that come out of her. "What?"

"One time-I reckon Sophia was around two years old. She walked in on me putting on my bra, and she said, 'Mama, you're puttin' on your booby seatbelts!'"

They heard a laugh from behind the tree.

"Come on out here, Carl," Daryl said.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, peering around the tree. Daryl wasn't sure if that giant hat made the boy look comical, or just fucking sad.

"You ain't gotta call me 'Sir.'"

"Mom says I do."

"Well, I guess you better listen to her then. What's that you got there?"

The boy pulled his hands out from behind his back. One held a shovel, and the other clutched a drooping bouquet of wildflowers.

"I just wanted to help. And I thought Sophia might like these."

"That's real nice of you, Carl," said Carol.

She looked back at Daryl. He asked, "You ready?"

"As much as I'll ever be."

The three of them walked around the grave to the mound of dirt. "What's that?" Carol asked, grabbing a shovel and pointing to a big cloth sack just beyond the dirt.

"Couple things," said Daryl. He bent down and pulled out the doll. "I didn't know if you wanted her to have this or if you wanted to keep it."

She stood there for a long time, just staring at the dirty, forlorn toy.

"I think maybe you need it more than she does," Daryl answered for her, and set the doll aside. He grabbed a shovel.

"Be careful," she said.

"I will," he said, forcefully shoving the tool into the dirt and trying to hide the look of pain that crossed his face. "Don't worry about me."

"Hey," she said, grabbing his arm. "I said be careful. When I told you yesterday that we can't lose you, too... I meant_ I _can't lose you. You know that, right?"

The three of them worked in silence-Daryl slowly, so as not to upset her-scooping and dumping bit by bit until all the loose dirt was gone and the hole was filled. Carl knelt down and placed his flowers at the base of the mound.

"You want us to give you a minute, dear?" Carol asked.

"No, ma'am. I won't be long." He took off his hat and cleared his throat.

Daryl gripped Carol's hand hard, as if the pressure of his fingers digging into her palm could keep her from losing it. She turned to him and whispered, "Don't worry. I think I'm all out of tears."

"I'm sorry you died, Sophia," the boy said matter-of-factly. "Maybe if I'd learned to shoot sooner, I coulda saved you."

Daryl continued squeezing her hand. Maybe she was fresh out of tears, but damn if he was. They watched as Carl stood up, put his hat on, and walked away, not looking back. This was no world for children. He'd tell her tonight about Lori. He didn't think she'd be the least bit envious.

"There's one more thing," Daryl said, reaching into the cloth sack again. He pulled out the clump of dirt and roots he'd dug up early that morning by the creek. It had one bloom left. The Cherokee Rose.

"Her middle name was Rose," Carol said, as they covered the roots with the loose soil. "Did you know that?"

"No, I didn't know."

"It was my mother's name," she said. "There. That looks real nice. Thank you."

"I think she'll like it."

They stood up and dusted off their hands.

"What do we do now, Daryl?"

"Hell, I don't know." He picked the doll up off the ground and handed it to her. "Just gonna live if we can. Gonna wake up tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, I hope."

She seemed to think about this as if it were a decision to make. Finally, she nodded.

"First thing," he said, "we're gonna move your stuff into my tent."

"My tent's bigger."

"Well, alright," he agreed. "We'll move my stuff, then. Guess I can see who's gonna be the boss."

"I'm not the same person, Daryl."

"You gonna be 'murderous heart Carol' now?" he smiled.

"I didn't say that," she said. "I just mean I'm not the poor, pitiful beaten up wife anymore; and I'm not going to be poor, pitiful Sophia's mother anymore either. I won't be able to stand it if everyone keeps looking at me like that. And if that's who you want to be with, forget it."

"Damn, woman," he said. "I just wanna be with _you_. I told you I ain't goin' nowhere."

"You sure you can handle it?" She held out a hand to him.

He took it, lacing his fingers through hers as they started back down the hill. "I think I'll survive," he said.

"Good," she replied. "Maybe we both will."


End file.
